


happy not knowing

by eggsoodeux (restlessoceans)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Saturday Night Live, Ambiguous Relationships, M/M, Slice of Life, plot with an allusion to porn???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlessoceans/pseuds/eggsoodeux
Summary: Do Kyungsoo is SNL Korea's upcoming host and Kim Jongdae's latest headache.
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongdae | Chen
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	happy not knowing

**Author's Note:**

> kyungsoo rpf bot is back with another ship <3 so this idea came to me fully formed (even the title and the summary) around 2 weeks ago after my afternoon nap. i never expected it to go past 2000 words but here we are, and i never learn. i didn't add this on the tags but content warning for drinking and smoking, but not excessively, and only mentioned a couple of times!
> 
> title is from carly rae jepsen's song of the same name.

He’s late.

That has been the recurring thought in the past five minutes as he preps SNL Korea’s writer’s room for their newest guest. Jongdae is pissed, of course, because a guest coming five minutes late to the prep meeting not only pushes the tight one-week schedule back, but also because it kind of reflects horribly on him, since he had been the one to recommend their guest to their producer.

He’s kind of hoping that he’ll be cut some slack, because it was a drunken remark on his part, taken seriously by Hyoyeon, after she’d said she wished they would catch a big fish for their newest guest appearance.

“Someone with a big following and a running drama,” she’d slurred to the gods. Jongdae just took another sip of his fourth beer, missing his mouth by a couple inches at first.

“We had that idol last week, with her debut drama,” Jongdae pointed out. His legs are splayed wide, and his ass is probably a mile deep into the lime green plush in their rec room. She had a terrible personality. Hyoyeon scoffed.

“Not an _idol_ ,” she said sharply, blowing her blonde hair from her face. Jongdae laughed, a remark about the lack of female solidarity in show business already at the tip of his tongue. “You know what I mean, Jongdae, someone established. A running household name.”

Jongdae’s beer is almost room temperature now, the bitter taste pronounced and unignorable. He’d sucked on his teeth, then to show that he was being attentive, that he gets what his boss is trying to say, said, “Like Do Kyungsoo.”

Hyoyeon had her back turned to him, trying to get her hair in a bun using a singular wooden chopstick (the other nowhere to be found). “Yes, like Kyungsoo-ssi,” she mumbled absently, then turned on her heel so fast that her hair fell from the chopstick bun anyway.

“Didn’t I send you to the premiere of his last movie to rub elbows?!”

“Yeah,” he answered, dreading the change in pace, “but we didn’t really—”

“Baekhyun told me he saw you two exchanging numbers by the end of it.” Hyoyeon’s cheeks were at full apple by that time, meaning she could not be stopped. “Call him. Wait, I’ll get shots! And then you call him!!”

Downing the double Hyoyeon poured, Jongdae wasn’t thinking. His fingers were numb and clumsy as he unlocked his phone, not even registering the time – 3:15 AM. Just thought over and over like a broken record, _my boss is asking me to do my job. I’m doing my job. Like she asked._

The KakaoTalk ringtone almost made it surreal. Bird chirping, tequila and Do Kyungsoo kind of sounds like a familiar mix, like one of those biscuit commercials from youth that pops into your head while you’re having a normal day. Jongdae is still out of it when the ringtone cut off and none other than Kyungsoo himself answered with, “Hello? Jongdae?”

Hyoyeon slapped his back after five seconds of him dumbly gripping his phone and his already empty beer bottle.

“He-hello,” Jongdae had coughed out. “Kyungsoo… ssi? Um, how are you?”

“I’m… okay.” Kyungsoo’s voice sounded scratchy, his words flowing by slower than his signature soft drawl. Sleepy then, just woke up. “Can I ask why you’re calling…?”

“How do you feel about…” Jongdae paused to wet his lips. He could catch himself slurring. “Guesting? For SNL, two weeks from now?” Silence on the other end. Right, the pitch. The room was also spinning. “It—your drama. It’s out soon? Could be a good way to create a buzz.”

SNL Korea’s ratings are not what they used to be. High profile celebrities like Do Kyungsoo, with his hit debut drama and succeeding critically-acclaimed projects spanning six years, get invited to less demanding, more viral shows for their work. Any actor of Kyungsoo’s calibre knows that guesting for a show as labor-intensive and fast-tracked as SNL is a benefit for the show, not the actor.

“Okay,” Kyungsoo replied after a moment.

“What—okay? You’re not, your manager—you’re not asking—” Hyoyeon clapped her hand over Jongdae’s mouth to prevent him from saying anything more.

“No, I’ll do it. Is that all?” The humming Jongdae does that were actually words of protest muffled by his boss’ palm is probably taken by Kyungsoo to be an affirmative. Then the call ended.

Now it’s Monday afternoon. The writers had been in HQ since 4 AM to finish their idea pitches, and they’d _just_ finished The Board right before lunch. Hyoyeon is already in the meeting room, which isn’t even a room so much as an area outlined by duct tape to allude to one. Jongdae has his hand jammed deep into his pocket to grip his phone. He’s sure some of his colleagues think it’s a pretty intense ball adjustment.

The door opens and Do Kyungsoo steps inside. His hair looks tousled from the wind, which makes no sense if he’s coming from the inside of his car unless he has some really hardcore air-conditioning. The crown of his head is pointed toward the staff as he bows deeply. “Sorry I'm late.”

Everyone else is starstruck, bowing repeatedly as Kyungsoo passes by them. He shakes Hyoyeon’s hand and is led to the 15 minute round of introductions. Kyungsoo shakes the hands of every writer in the room, mumbles a quick, “Please take good care of me.”

When Jongdae’s turn comes around, Kyungsoo’s grip is sure and warm. The determined spark in his eyes as he meets Jongdae’s gaze almost makes it feel like no time has passed between them.

* * *

Despite the earlier hiccup, the sour first impression Kyungsoo had made (only to Jongdae, apparently), he manages to be the perfect guest host. He’s never late after Monday, comes to the building with notes on the previous drafts, ready to give suggestions and assert where he knows he can do more. He’s quick to absorb the know-how and the comments of the team in turn. And he’s got a dry sense of humor, honest quips that manage to be hilarious and make the staff scramble to write his inspiring moments down on their Galaxy Notes.

He even gets the staff four food trucks in between a long leg of shooting for the filler skits. There are churros and corndogs, coffee and bubble tea freshly made and lined up at the parking lot. Everyone is halfway in love with the guy, almost buzzing with the restraint not to coo at him openly or take selfies with him and have them sign their joke notebooks. Jongdae just pretends he’s got something going on in another room.

He stumbles upon Kyungsoo during break time, leaning against the side of the building. He’s reading something on his phone, the light illuminating his face in a way that should be unattractive but isn’t. His phone is maybe a step behind the latest model, and he doesn’t notice Jongdae until Jongdae flips his lighter open, the sound startling him from whatever was on his phone.

Jongdae waits for the cigarette to light up, takes a long first drag, and lets the smoke billow from his parted lips. Kyungsoo’s eyes are fixed on the corners of Jongdae’s lips, the slight upturn of them—he can see him biting the inside of his cheeks behind the haze of the smoke.

“Shouldn’t an A-lister like you be better at sensing when people are close? What if it were the paps instead of me?”

Kyungsoo frowns now, his full lips turning down, his bottom lip jutting out a bit more than usual. “They’d be expecting me more by the food trucks,” he says after a while, “and this warehouse is in the middle of the tVN complex.”

Jongdae shrugs. It hasn’t been unheard of, that some paparazzi still get into the complex without being detected by their security. “Why are you working so hard on this show?” he settles on. He’s not the greatest of small talkers. He can see the tension in Kyungsoo’s body, the way he wants to move, swipe the smoke away maybe, get a better look at Jongdae. He doesn’t step closer though, stays just outside of reach.

Kyungsoo did this at the premiere too, while Jongdae was trying his best to slink into the crowd, come and go with just enough proof of him on people’s minds for when Hyoyeon comes to ask. He was always at the edge of Jongdae’s vision, up until the very end where he’d cornered him into one of the window coves of the fancy venue, two flutes of champagne in his hand, asking Jongdae for his number.

“I put thought in every single project I take on,” Kyungsoo replies, a perfect and succinct response, but it belies just a bit of annoyance. If he was talking to anyone but Jongdae, they would’ve missed the defensiveness of it.

“Why did you accept? There must be bigger shows that reached out, better viewership too, the younger crowd.”

“I thought it was your job to know what good this show would do for me and my work, or was I mistaken? You called me.”

“At three AM, drunk and barely getting through my pitch. You should’ve taken it as the drunken bootycall it could’ve been and ignored it.”

Kyungsoo’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “I don’t really have to explain my career choices to you,” he says, then pushes past Jongdae to the front of the building.

“You never tried to anyway,” Jongdae snaps, loud enough for it to carry toward Kyungsoo’s retreating back. Kyungsoo doesn’t even pause. Jongdae takes another drag, realizing the conversation has burned through to almost the butt of his cigarette. Just like old times.

* * *

If you asked him probably seven years back, Jongdae would say Kyungsoo was the biggest heartbreak of his life. A larger and more opaque sadness than when Buzz disbanded, or when his parents flushed both his and Jongdeok’s deceased goldfishes down the toilet when he was nine. 

They’d bumped into each other, as all college cliches go, in a house party, already two shots past tipsy and woke up in what looked like Jongdae’s bedroom, only half out of their clothes. Kyungsoo’s head was pillowed on the soft mass of Jongdae’s bare thighs, his bottom lip caught and pulled slightly on Jongdae’s skin. Jongdae’s phone was within reach, so he was in no hurry to go anywhere, depending on where the mixed beers and shots in his stomach were leaning. Kyungsoo roused slowly, blinking rapidly against the sun peeking through the blinds. Jongdae knew he was trying to be discreet about it, but the soft brush of Kyungsoo’s palm against his inner thigh to wipe up what little drool was there didn’t go unnoticed. Nor was it completely unwelcome.

Apologetic, Kyungsoo offered to cook breakfast, and though he scrunched his nose a tiny bit at the lacking selection for what is generally accepted as a healthy and varied diet. The five half-finished packs of quick-fry corndogs would have been a deterrent for Jongdae too, if he were honest. Kyungsoo still managed a good, warm meal, soothing both their hangovers with some quick mix soup and egg rolls with a cup of rice.

On the way out, Kyungsoo had scribbled his number on Jongdae’s wrist, an unexpected “since I’ve seen your hot pink underwear, we’re probably past acquaintances, Jongdae” coming from his mouth before he sauntered off in yesterday’s clothes. And the rest is history. Along with Kyungsoo disappearing a year later to America of all places, bags packed and Jongdae’s apartment void of any trace of the other apart from a cactus, and the careful rearrangement of his replenished spice rack.

Now they’re both past their twenties; Kyungsoo living his dream after four movies and two hit dramas under his belt and Jongdae is doing pretty well in a job that he’s pretty good at, ratings be damned.

“Nervous?” Jongdae can hear the makeup artist ask Kyungsoo as she applies a light dusting of powder on Kyungsoo’s face.

“A little,” Kyungsoo replies and to anyone else it can sound coy, but it’s Kyungsoo being honest, a little shy too, maybe the one part of him that isn’t quite cut out for superstardom but endears the public to him nonetheless.

Kyungsoo’s always been a little awkward with live appearances, not that Jongdae has been keeping track of his ex, but in the accidental couple or so times that he’s seen Kyungsoo do live shoots or conferences, there’s always that underlying hesitation. Back when he was performing small, independent plays in Seoul Institute of the Arts, he would cling a little harder to Jongdae, scan the crowd for him during his monologues.

When they stand in the wings, right before Kyungsoo’s opening skit, Jongdae sees the slight tremor in Kyungsoo’s hands. Without thinking, Jongdae fits his palm against Kyungsoo’s clammy one, gripping it tight once, before moving to let go. Kyungsoo’s hand closes when Jongdae pulls away, like he’d thought to squeeze back too late. Kyungsoo turns to him, the LED countdown clock above them washing the room in an eerie, blinking red, but his eyes are as wide and as bright as it had been when they were 21, and Jongdae can only offer him an unguarded grin.

Kyungsoo’s talent was something Jongdae had never dismissed, even in the years he spent bitter and upset, changing the channel quickly in defiance during the year of Kyungsoo’s debut. It helps that Kyungsoo is so handsome in a grey coat with a cream turtleneck underneath, his thighs cupped nicely by his light wash jeans, smiling back at him.

“Break a leg,” Jongdae says. Kyungsoo laughs.

* * *

Kyungsoo’s performance is received with raucous applause. 

_You can literally hear the ratings shoot up_ , a voice in Jongdae’s head rings, the one that sounds like Hyoyeon. Jongdae thinks that if he looked up at the elevated tech booth, Hyoyeon is basically yelling it out behind the soundproof glass anyway.

During the curtain call, Jongdae is pushed toward the center, right against Kyungsoo’s side. Kyungsoo is in a flannel shirt now and overalls tucked in rubber boots. He was a struggling university student who had to take odd jobs in the last skit. Fake dirt on his face and all but he’s shining bright, the apples of his cheeks flushed, his breathless laughter so clear in Jongdae’s ears despite the noise of the rest of the studio.

Kyungsoo grips Jongdae’s shoulder, and for a split second, the vivid image of Kyungsoo pulling him for a kiss flashes bright and uninterrupted in Jongdae’s mind. Kyungsoo gives him a tight hug, lingering a second too long before the slate is cut, and their work is done.

Kyungsoo manages to avoid the post-show high after only thirty minutes of hand shaking and autograph signing. Jongdae doesn’t move from his spot by the fake Big Ben, not entirely sure that he’s waiting for something, but staying there nonetheless. Kyungsoo finds him, tugs gently at Jongdae’s university hoodie, until they’re at the farthest and most secluded dressing room.

Kyungsoo locks the doors behind him, and Jongdae wrings his hands. “You had all this planned?”

“Got all the exits covered,” Kyungsoo crowds Jongdae against the door. Their eyes meet for one charged second before Kyungoo drops to his knees. “I’m taking you up on that booty call now,” he says, the cheeky little shit.

“I’ll never be able to work here without thinking about this, you jerk,” Jongdae hisses, but without bite, helping Kyungsoo pop the button of his jeans open.

“Good,” Kyungsoo replies, running his hand up Jongdae’s thigh. Jongdae can almost hear him smirk. “I hate to be forgettable.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/eggsoodeux) since i deactivated main for. reasons :(  
> [other exo work](https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlessoceans/works?fandom_id=550814)


End file.
